


Winter in the Kommandantur

by Hyarrowen



Category: Enemy at the Door (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:50:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyarrowen/pseuds/Hyarrowen
Summary: A cold winter afternoon; influenza stalking the island; someone summons the only doctor they can entirely trust.





	Winter in the Kommandantur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lost_spook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/gifts).



“Good Lord, you look terrible.”

Richter eyed Dr Martel with disfavour. They had reached a point at which, when alone together, comments like that might well be made. But as the very first remark of the meeting, the opening salvo as it were, and also because it was true, Richter found it hard to take.

“I am aware of that, Dr Martel. Perhaps you would be good enough to look at those statistics, as I requested on the telephone.”

Martel shot him a look from under his brows, but went over to Major Freidel's desk, where the manila folder was waiting. He picked it up, opened the folder and angled it towards the pale winter sunlight, coming in from behind Freidel's chair.

“You may use the desk. The Major is away at a conference on the mainland, and will not be back until tea-time.” 

“Were afternoon tea not a thing of the past -”

“- which it is.” Richter continued in unison with him. “Let us not have that conversation again. The desk is locked and the key is elsewhere. You have my full permission to sit there.”

Martel did so, with ill grace. “I should be seeing to my patients, you do realise this?”

“I could hardy fail to know it. Regard this report as a way of anticipating their needs.”

Martel huffed and opened the folder. The courtesies had been observed.

Richter went on looking through the leave requests which had been sent up by his senior officers. As if they could afford to send men on leave now, with influenza coursing through the islands. The dense printing of the forms swam a little before his eyes. He let his hand fall on the pile of papers, and tilted his head back for a moment.

“Oberst.”

“I was merely resting my eyes, Doctor.” He opened them as he spoke, and saw, hazy against the bright window, that Martel was regarding him with close attention.

“Headache?”

“Since you ask, yes.”

“Aches anywhere else?”

“Nothing to regard.” 

“You do realise that this is a particularly unpleasant strain of influenza?”

“Nevertheless, I have my duty to attend to.”

“You can attend to it tomorrow. You look terrible. As I said as soon as I came in through that door.” He gestured at it.

Beyond that door, and a little way down the corridor, was the office which Kluge and Reinecke shared, about as happily as a bear and a wolf in the same den. Richter smiled a little at the picture. He was getting light-headed, perhaps. “We are, unfortunately, short-staffed today. Not only is Major Freidel on the mainland, so too is General Müller. I will, therefore, need to remain at my post if the administration of the island is to run smoothly.”

Martel stared at him for perhaps five seconds. Richter could see the wheels turning – and even that metaphor made him a little dizzy, so he pushed it out of his mind. But undoubtedly Martel now knew why he had been summoned. Not to look at statistics, but to keep an eye on the only Wehrmacht officer left between Sturmbannführer Reinecke, ambition incarnate, and command of the Channel Islands. Reinecke could do a lot of damage in a few hours. Had done, on several occasions.

“Right. Well, I'll need a parish map of the islands. Do you have one?”

Richter waved him to the bookshelf, where such maps as were safe to be on hand were arrayed, along with a Baedecker's guide covering the island. Martel went over, found the map he needed, thought for a moment, and pulled the coat-stand halfway across the door. Richter watched with hazy amusement as he fixed the map up to form a screen, blocking the view of the office to anyone who might suddenly decide to come in. It was also close by Freidel's desk, so he could refer from the printed statistics to the map with ease. He took up a handful of coloured pencils, and began to transfer information from the folder to the map.

Richter pushed his chair back so he could rest his head against the filing-cabinet. The air was chilly; he was glad of the warmth of another person in the room. His back ached, and so did all his limbs. He could hear the crackle of paper, and the shuffling of Martel's feet, presumably as he stood back to view the picture emerging on the map, but he no longer made any pretence of being alert.

A while later, Martel seemed to be rummaging around the side-table. Richter opened his eyes to see him peering under and around it.

“You have lost something, perhaps?”

“I've seen coffee-things here before now, and you need a hot drink. Tea, preferably. It won't keep you awake at night. Where should I look?”

“Side cupboard.” Just beyond the locked filing cabinet, and there was nothing of importance in there otherwise. Martel opened the cupboard door, and pounced on the tray. “Spirit-stove and all. Where do I get water?”

“Across the passage-way.”

Martel edged round the map-screen. “I'm making him tea,” he said, very much on his dignity, to the orderly's quiet question, which Richter didn't catch in its entirety. A minute later he was back inside the room, setting out the cups while the spirit-stove murmured away to itself.

Richter opened his eyes again to see a cup and saucer being put down in front of him. Steam curled off the liquid; its aroma roused him from his half-dreaming state. Another cup stood on Freidel's desk.

“I was very tempted to make off with your entire stock of tea, Herr Oberst. It shows some nobility of spirit that I didn't do so, I hope you'll agree.”

“I do indeed. Thank-you, Doctor.” He took a sip, and another, and the brew seemed to be displaying some of the magical qualities that the British ascribed to it, because his mind cleared a little. The pale winter sunlight had moved down quite a way from its earlier position. “What time is it?”

“Four-thirty. When are the General and the Major due back?”

“In an hour.” He squinted at the map. It was now embellished with numbers, circles and lines in different colours. “You seem to have found some useful information in those statistics.”

“Yes, but you're not going to like the measures I suggest to counteract the influenza. Curtailing troop movements, for one.”

“When did I ever like your suggestions?”

“Very rarely. Though I note you like the suggestion of tea.”

Since Richter was raising the cup to his lips at that very moment, he could do nothing but smile. “A very palpable hit, Doctor. Tell me what other measures you have in mind.”

And Martel did so, in a quiet voice quite unlike his usual brisk tones. When Richter had finished his cup, he let himself fall into a doze from which he was only roused by the voice of General Müller at the office door, with Major Freidel murmuring soothingly behind him.

“Who the devil put this contraption here?” enquired Müller, as the edge of the door crashed into the coat-stand and sent it toppling. He fought his way free of the map. “Oh, it's you, Dr Martel. What are you doing here at this hour, hm?”

“I've analysed the Oberst's statistics as he asked." Martel glanced at Richter. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get home to my wife.”

“Yes, thank-you, Doctor. You've done excellent work this afternoon,” and Richter gestured towards the map; but their eyes, meeting for one final moment, silently acknowledged what that work had actually been.

“Yes, get along with you – we can't have you out after curfew, hey?” said Muller. And as Martel gathered up his coat and briefcase, and departed the room, the General took note of his Oberst's face for the first time. “Good lord, Richter. You look terrible. You'd better get off to bed. That doctor fellow's been looking after you, then?” 

No-one could accuse the General of subtlety or tact.

-x-

It was a painful week before Richter was out and about again, and one of his first actions was to make up a small parcel of tea, to keep in his desk drawer ready for the doctor's next visit.


End file.
